


Fancy Meeting You Here

by Akranes



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Belly Kink, Body Image, Chubby Jaskier | Dandelion, Getting Back Together, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Miscommunication, Recreational Drug Use, Weight Gain, Weight Gain Kink, Weight Issues, more like fat jaskier but that's not a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27103780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akranes/pseuds/Akranes
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt broke up years ago, before they even went to college. Jaskier was definitely not expecting to run into him now, so many years later.And maybe the reunion wouldn't be so embarrassing if Jaskier hadn't gotten so fat.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 54
Kudos: 285
Collections: Wasn't Quite Expecting This (But I Loved It)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this was supposed to be like <3000 words of lorge Jaskier, modern AU, and that's it. Because I'm so longwinded sometimes, it's nice to prove to myself that I _can_ write something short-ish.
> 
> and then I started writing a follow-up fic before I even posted this, which I'm gonna tack on as chapters 3-4, so _don't be deceived by the final word count ok, I succeeded in writing something short-ish_
> 
> (but did I, when there's a follow up with enough continuity to be added at the end and seem like 1 fic?)
> 
> ahem
> 
> anyways it's me again with another kink fic. Read the tags!! Unbeta'd, as usual

“Jaskier?”

The voice stops him cold, his outstretched hand still reaching for a bag of Doritos. He’d recognize that gravelly, deep voice anywhere.

Jaskier used to live and breathe for that voice.

Jaskier turns towards the voice, even though he’d really rather run down the aisle and out of the store entirely.

Sure enough, Geralt stands behind him, a shopping basket in the crook of his arm. He’s wearing joggers and a light jacket, perfectly casual but still somehow unfairly attractive. At a glance, he looks even more buff than he had been the last time Jaskier had seen him, which was years ago. His hair’s a bit longer, too. He’s got stubble that he hadn’t had at the tender age of 19.

His basket’s also full of vegetables and fish, so obviously some things never change.

Jaskier’s throat goes tight as he glances down at his cart. Fuck, running into Geralt like this is so embarrassing. Did he really need three pints of Ben & Jerry’s? All the cans of soda in his cart are suddenly looking like a lot, too.

At least now Geralt would have a clear idea of how Jaskier ended up in his current state.

Geralt _does_ look awfully gobsmacked, to Jaskier’s utmost horror. To his credit, though, he doesn’t look down at the belly pushing tight against Jaskier’s sweatshirt. His eyes are fixed on Jaskier’s face, almost more disturbingly.

“Uh, Geralt, hi,” Jaskier says, feeling far more awkward than he has in ages.

At the sound of Jaskier’s voice, Geralt’s face, the look of shock, smooths. The furrow between his brow lessens and his mouth relaxes in a way that’s close to a smile.

“I didn’t know you still lived in the area,” Geralt says, stepping closer, making it very clear this isn’t just a “hi and bye” sort of encounter.

Jaskier wishes the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

“Uh, yeah, I moved back after college,” he says, “I had to move back in with my parents for a while after. But I have my own place now,” he adds quickly, lest Geralt think he’s as pathetic as he probably looks.

Geralt looks like he’s going to ask something else, but Jaskier would really rather avoid talking about himself so instead he finds himself saying, “I didn’t know you were back from Africa.”

Geralt looks surprised, and scratches the back of his head. “You heard about that? Yeah, I only volunteered for two terms, so I got back almost a year ago.”

Jaskier had heard from a mutual friend that Geralt joined the Peace Corps after college. He had shrugged his shoulders and said whatever, that it had already been a few years since their breakup so he didn’t really care.

“So, uh,” Geralt says after a beat of silence, “You’ve been...good?”

Jaskier tenses. He’s not sure if that’s some veiled comment on his weight or if Geralt’s really asking the question generally. He’s probably being oversensitive, but it’s hard not to be, standing in front of Geralt after almost 9 years and at least 100 pounds.

“Uh, yeah, fine,” he says, shrugging. “I do coding now. It’s not glamorous, but I make good money.” He makes _great_ money, really, but that would probably make Geralt question why he was standing in the grocery store in a sweatshirt a size too small.

“Really?” Geralt says, looking genuinely interested in a way that makes Jaskier frown, “I figured you’d pursue your music. You always wanted to be a rockstar.”

Okay, now he’s definitely being made fun of. Any ‘rockstar’ dreams had died quickly after Jaskier really realized just how much work it would be, and after he put on his second freshman fifteen.

Either way, he’s certainly looking far from a rockstar these days.

“Yeah, well, had to go with something more realistic in the end,” Jaskier says tersely.

Geralt blinks at him, mouth barely open like he’s not quite sure what to say. Good, he knows Jaskier’s offended, then. He always could be so fucking dense with emotions.

“Um. Okay, sure. As long as you like it,” Geralt offers, and Jaskier feels his jaw clench. God, he’s so over this conversation. He’d really like to just go home and bury his embarrassment with a Ben & Jerry’s or two.

“Yep, I do. Well, Geralt, it was nice running into you, but-”

“Oh. Yeah, no, of course,” Geralt says, looking down, and suddenly Jaskier feels a bit bad. He doesn’t actually seem like he was trying to offend Jaskier, but could Jaskier really be blamed for assuming the worst?

“It was nice to see you, Jaskier,” he says, pausing before adding, “Maybe, ah, we can catch up? Over coffee, or maybe dinner?”

Jaskier frowns again. What the hell is he playing at?

It must be written all over his face, because Geralt then says, “You’d be well within your rights to say no. I’d deserve it. But...I’m really not the same guy I was.”

How could he be, really? Geralt was barely 19 and Jaskier was 18 when they broke up. The years they spent apart were some fairly formative ones.

But something really isn’t adding up here. “I’m sorry, are you asking me out?”

“Um,” Geralt gives an awkward, soft chuckle, “Well, yes. I...regret the way things ended between us. I-”

“Wait, seriously?” Was Geralt’s eyesight going, at the ripe age of 27?

Geralt just looks confused, maybe a little disgruntled, “Jaskier, it’s up to you. But I’d really like a second chance. I never really thought I’d get to ask for one.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes at him, “You know social media’s a thing, right? You could’ve asked for one whenever. Or like, apologized whenever.”

Geralt winces. “I, ah, don’t really do much social media.”

“You don’t do much social media,” Jaskier deadpans.

“Er, any, really,” Geralt corrects, “You know I had Facebook for a few years, but I deleted that before I even graduated.”

Jaskier kind of knew that, actually. But he’s not ready to admit how recently he’s tried to find Geralt on social media.

“Right. Well, uh, okay.”

Geralt looks surprised. Then the corners of his mouth twitch up and Jaskier’s heart pounds.

He takes out his phone and Jaskier gives him his number.

Geralt doesn’t mention the contents of Jaskier’s cart, or the state of his sweatshirt. Or the state of his body in general.

Jaskier wonders what the hell he’s getting himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

A few weeks and a few dates later, Jaskier’s still not sure what he’s gotten himself into.

He shouldn’t be surprised at how easily they fall into conversations. How easily they fall into a rhythm, into something comfortable, familiar but also entirely new.

It shouldn’t surprise him, because they were always good together, right up until they weren’t.

Geralt wasn’t kidding though; he’s grown up. He’s a lot more humble than he used to be, which is kind of funny, because however hot he was in their teens, he’s way hotter now. He also tries a lot less hard to come off as cool and composed. He lets himself smile, he lets Jaskier tease him, and is just overall a lot more comfortable with himself.

It’s refreshing. And, honestly, it has Jaskier ready to forgive him for the past fairly quickly.

It also makes Jaskier wonder how _he’s_ changed. But he wonders if his changes are less flattering than Geralt’s, so he thinks twice about asking.

Honestly, everything’s going great, but Jaskier’s still...confused.

Because he’s fat. Not, like, a little chubby, a little soft from college and an office job.

No, he’s really, properly fat. 

The first handful of pounds were from the pizza and beer phase during his first two years in college. Freshly broken up with Geralt, freshly out of the closet (Geralt had been his first and only before college), Jaskier had been ready to get onto the scene. He’d been the cliche twink: small, submissive and very pretty. He’d had a lot of sex, drank a lot of beer, and partied pretty hard. He’d softened pretty noticeably by the end of his sophomore year, all the sex not quite enough to cut all those calories, but he still didn’t have a problem getting laid, so he hadn’t worried much.

His junior year was a lot of weed. He’d gotten a little tired of the party scene and made some stoner friends, who loved to smoke, play video games, and eat. Jaskier could get down with all of that, and found himself enjoying the slower pace. Around the end of that year, 36’s were getting too tight for comfort.

Then senior year came around and it was stressful as all hell. He picked up a new stress eating habit, and the weight that came along with it.

By the time he graduated college he’d packed on a substantial amount of weight. Definitely enough to be considered fat.

But then, he’d gotten a cushy desk job. He’d gotten together with another guy in his department, and settled into his first adult relationship.

Jaskier thinks it was the complacency and comfort of the relationship, coupled with his sedentary job that made him continue to expand then. There were always snacks in the breakroom, and Jaskier had developed pretty poor eating habits in college, and didn’t really see a reason to change them. He was in a nice relationship, and it wasn’t like his partner didn’t have some cushion, too, so he hadn’t really worried.

Then his partner had announced out of nowhere that he had received a job offer somewhere else and was moving out of the state completely. When Jaskier had the _gall_ to be upset, he had only said that they never discussed being really serious, and that he had thought they were still fairly casual.

Fairly casual, Jaskier’s fat ass. They had talked about moving in together. Maybe those had been mostly offhanded talks, but they still _talked about it_.

He had also made some thinly veiled comments on Jaskier’s increasing weight leading up to that, though, and frankly, they were hard not to fixate on afterwards.

And if Jaskier had been gradually swelling before that, he ballooned after. He hasn’t weighed himself since college, but he’s not stupid. He knows there’s no way in hell he’s 209 pounds anymore, like he was at the end of his junior year.

He wouldn’t be surprised if his breakup weight has him edging a bit closer to the 300 side of things than the 200 side.

And the last time he had been with Geralt, he couldn’t have been more than 140.

Which is _why_ , when they’re making out on Jaskier’s couch and Jaskier sees nothing but hunger in Geralt’s eyes, he’s confused.

How in the _fuck_ can Geralt still think he’s attractive?

Geralt, who is solid, broad muscle, eats clean food and goes to the gym as often as it looks like he does (as it turns out, he’s literally doing personal training these days, _ugh_ ). Geralt, who could definitely make a killing as an Instagram model, even if he seemed confused by the concept when Jaskier brought it up.

Jaskier wonders about a kink, but Geralt liked him plenty when he was thin, and that girl he had been with after Jaskier had been a skinny little thing, too. He doesn’t know about any other partners Geralt’s had, but that seems evidence enough for him.

Jaskier can’t deny that their personalities mesh well, so maybe it’s simply _that_. Maybe Geralt just likes him enough in that way to ignore that he’s fat? It seems like the only answer.

No matter what, though, Jaskier’s just really not fucking looking forward to taking his shirt off. Geralt has tried, several times, but always stops without question when Jaskier puts his hands over Geralt’s own.

To that point, they’ve only made out. Which seems ridiculous when they’ve actually boned _many_ times already.

But, testament to how he’s changed, Geralt doesn’t say a word.

Until he does.

It’s been just a few weeks since their grocery store encounter, and Geralt came by in the afternoon, after a trip to the gym.

His hair had been wet, his skin damp enough that his shirt had been clinging to him in all the right places, so really, Jaskier can’t be blamed for pulling him in for a kiss the moment he walked through the door.

They’re still kissing, and Jaskier’s hands are greedier than they should be, slipping under the hem of Geralt’s shirt to grope the broadness of his chest, the lean taper of his waist.

Geralt’s hands slip down Jaskier’s own waist, resting on the bulge of his love handles. He deepens the kiss, tugging the hem of his shirt over the fullness of his hips. His shirt’s not too snug, but it’s snug enough that his wide hips stay exposed. Geralt moves his hands gently, almost hesitantly, over the flesh, and it feels just _so fucking good_ to be touched that way that Jaskier really can’t ask him to stop.

Until Geralt’s hands move forward, his hands so obviously now on Jaskier’s belly. On instinct, Jaskier sucks in.

It must be one time too many, though. To Jaskier’s chagrin, Geralt pulls back, brow furrowed in that cutely puzzled way of his.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines, trying to pull his face back, but Geralt’s too tall when he stands up straight.

“Jaskier,” Geralt ponderously starts, and Jaskier’s already internally cringing, terrified at where Geralt’s going with this, “You’re... _really_ gorgeous.”

He was not ready for Geralt to lead with _that_. He can’t help the way he barks a surprised laugh, biting his tongue when he sees Geralt’s hard eyes.

“What’s so funny?” he grumbles, and Jaskier realizes he thinks _he’s_ being made fun of.

“That’s not- you don’t have to say that,” Jaskier quickly says, “I know how I look right now, okay? I-I’m gonna cut back, it’s really high time I go on a diet anyways-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts, “I mean it. I think you’re very attractive. I always have.”

“Uh, sure, but you _must’ve_ been more attracted back then.”

Geralt looks thoroughly perturbed now, “You mean just because of your weight?”

God, how does Jaskier keep forgetting how dense he can be sometimes? He rolls his eyes and puts a hand on his belly where it’s pushed up against Geralt’s lean torso. It’s round enough that even without them properly pressed up against each other, it still bumps up against Geralt.

“C’mon, Geralt,” Jaskier says, trying to cover his very real insecurity with good ol’ self deprecating humor, “It’s not like it’s just a little. I’m pretty-” he means to say _fat_ , but he realizes all at once he’s never actually called himself fat aloud (at least not to Geralt) and for some reason, the word gets stuck on his tongue.

“You _are_ pretty,” Geralt growls, tucking a stray piece of Jaskier’s just-barely overgrown hair behind his ear.

“I know you’re...self-conscious, about your body now,” Geralt continues, and Jaskier decides now would be a good time for that hole in the ground to open and swallow him up. He can’t imagine how flushed his round cheeks are. “And we can take things as slow as you want. It doesn’t matter to me. But, Jaskier, I think you look really good. And I’d really like to touch you.”

Geralt’s hand has joined Jaskier’s on the crest of his belly.

“It really doesn’t, I dunno, freak you out?” Jaskier has to ask, staring down at their hands, “I mean, I’m so much bigger than I was.”

Geralt looks amused, “Don’t think I could handle it?”

Geralt’s smirk makes Jaskier bite his lip. God, _fuck_ , he’s always been able to get this reaction out of Jaskier.

It’s like a band-aid. He’s just gotta rip it off. And if Geralt doesn’t like what he sees, then that’s his own damn fault. He asked for this. Jaskier would’ve been plenty happy to keep it on.

“It’s just not the prettiest sight, alright?” Jaskier feels the need to preface one more time, as he reaches for the hem of his shirt, trying to act like it’s not a big deal. “I’ve looked a lot better.”

Jaskier tries not to think about his stretch marks, about how his love handles are making him look especially wide these days, or the way his tummy’s so big it folds over his waistband, obscuring the button on his pants and then some. He holds his hands at his sides, trying not to fidget as Geralt’s eyes roam his torso.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, and there’s something distinctly chastising in his voice, “You’re beautiful.”

Despite himself, his breath catches in his throat.

Geralt’s hand is there, on the side of his belly, radiating heat, but his touch is feather light, like he fears he might break him. Which is almost comical because of how well-padded Jaskier is these days.

But Geralt’s always been a bad liar, and, well. He really looks nonplussed by Jaskier’s body. Completely unsurprised and unphased. Pleased, even. His hand moves slowly, reverently over Jaskier’s belly, then skirting over the rolls at his side. He gets a better grip on his sides and tugs Jaskier closer again, mushing Jaskier’s belly between them. But Geralt doesn’t look down; he just smiles at Jaskier.

Jaskier finds himself smiling back.

“Then take yours off, will you?” Jaskier demands, feeling all sorts of vulnerable (but maybe not in such a bad way anymore) and trying to deflect, “I’m tired of waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like honestly, I can't just leave y'all hanging, I gotta give you the sauce on why they broke up
> 
> so basically the followup was _necessary_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pavetta's here because I needed to give Jaskier a BFF and it sure as shit wasn't going to be Yennefer lol

“Okay, sorry, I just think I’m stuck on the fact that this is _the_ Geralt.”

Jaskier scowls. He knew Pavetta would react like this.

“Yes, yes, I know it’s-”

“Like, the same Geralt that cheated on you out of spite?”

Jaskier winces. “Well, it sounds awfully bad when you say it like that.”

“I’m sorry, is that not what happened?”

“Ugh,” Jaskier takes a big bite out of his burger. “Look, it was more complicated than that.”

Pavetta looks at him sternly, fork hovering over her salad.

“So tell me where I’m wrong in the story, then,” Pavetta says, “You suspected Geralt of cheating, right?”

Jaskier puts his forehead in his palm. “Yes.”

“And you went through his phone.”

“And didn’t find anything.”

“But he was pissed.”

Jaskier frowns at the memory. “Yeah, it was a fight alright. I had been convinced that he was cheating for a while.” And he had gotten annoying as hell about it. He had started accusing Geralt all the damn time.

“And after the fight,” Pavetta presses, “He went out, right?”

“And got drunk and _actually_ cheated, yes,” Jaskier says, huffing, “Look, I’m not saying that wasn’t fucked. And yeah, things had been great until I got annoying and insecure as hell about our relationship, but for the record, I’m agreeing with you. Geralt’s the asshole in this story.”

“I’m just looking out for you, you know that, right? I’m only worried you’re forgiving him too easily.”

“I know, I know.”

Jaskier had hardly mentioned Geralt by name to Pavetta, his best-work-friend turned best friend in general. Geralt had mostly just been “asshole high school boyfriend”.

After a beat of silence, Pavetta continues, “You said you started feeling insecure in your relationship. Why?”

Jaskier sighs. Their senior year, Geralt had discovered bulking and put on 20 pounds of pure muscle. He’d gotten beefy in a way that very few 18-year-olds could manage. And he had started getting _ogled_. Girls, boys, it didn’t matter, everyone in their high school suddenly had eyes for Geralt.

And he had eyes for them. He’d preen under someone’s gaze when he noticed it, flex an arm at a cheerleader and Jaskier knows for a fact he winked at that soccer player, though Geralt denied it.

“Geralt got really hot,” Jaskier says blandly, ignoring the way the memory still makes his skin crawl, “and he would basically flirt with anyone who looked at him. But it really seems like he’s grown out of it,” he adds hastily at the end. He’s not trying to make excuses for Geralt; it’s the truth.

Geralt’s only had eyes for him the few times they’ve been out in public so far. And Geralt still gets looks; he’s far too unearthly hot _not_ to. But Geralt doesn’t take his eyes away from Jaskier.

He wonders if Geralt’s noticed how intently Jaskier’s been watching him in that way when they’re in public. Watching for any sign of interest in others. If he has, he hasn’t said anything.

There had been one particular waitress, on their third date, who had really been going for it with Geralt. Geralt wasn’t giving her the time of day, but then she actually reached out and touched his wrist as she placed his beer in front of him. Before Jaskier even had a chance to let insecurity bubble up, he gave her a scowl so menacing that she actually flinched away and apologized before scuttling away to tend to her other tables.

And Jaskier had absolutely _glowed_ in delight.

Pavetta purses her lips, looking unconvinced. She watches Jaskier take another defensive bite of his burger.

“Has he apologized?”

That throws Jaskier for a loop. “Um. Well, we haven’t really discussed the incident in detail.”

“Oh, seriously, Jaskier?”

“It was years ago!” He argues, “We were practically kids! And he talked all about me giving him a second chance, so he knows he was at fault.”

Pavetta sighs, finally drizzling her salad with a minimal amount of dressing and tossing it.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not happy for you. You _have_ seemed really happy these past few weeks.”

Jaskier shifts, feeling the armrests of the lunchroom chair press into his sides. “But?”

“There’s no but. Just remember your worth, okay? If he starts acting like an asshole…”

“I’ll kick him to the curb,” Jaskier assures her.

She nods, looking satisfied. “If he hurts you, I’ll hurt him,” she says, waving her fork at him.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, but grins. He’s not surprised by her reaction, nor can he blame her for being skeptical. He knows he hasn’t talked particularly nicely about Geralt to her in the past. And he _has_ hopped back on the Geralt wagon pretty fast.

 _Was_ he being too trusting? Geralt did seem a lot more mature these days, but maybe he’d just finally gotten better at lying.

He sips his soda pensively. He hadn’t actually considered that as a possibility until now. It doesn’t seem that likely, but as he continues to make his way through his lunch and the conversation shifts elsewhere, he finds the thoughts still floating around in his head.

Particularly, Pavetta’s words keep ringing in his ear: _“Has he apologized?”_

 _Was_ Geralt sorry?

_

Jaskier arrives at his apartment, feeling a warm, pleased wave wash over him when he sees Geralt bustling in his kitchen.

It doesn’t last, though, after his conversation with Pavetta. Suddenly all he can think about is that it’s barely been a month, and he’d given Geralt his spare key. That was _surely_ fast.

Then Geralt turns over his shoulder and smiles at Jaskier. His white-blond hair is pulled into a loose bun and, God help him, he’s wearing Jaskier’s Star Trek apron.

It’s adorable, domestic, and has that happy warmth coming back, now warring with cool unease that has settled in his chest.

Jaskier must be giving him some sort of look, because suddenly Geralt looks a little bashful.

“I’m doing my best,” he states, looking down at the pan he’s working over, “But- uh, we have some differing ingredient preferences.”

Jaskier snorts. Understatement of the century. “Some things will never change,” he says, plodding into the kitchen to see what sort of mess Geralt’s made.

And, actually, everything seems fine. Jaskier’s fridge might be lacking the plethora of vegetables and lean meats in Geralt’s, but he seems to be making it work.

“Lasagne?” Jaskier says, watching him layer more noodles. He had plenty of meats (mostly of the red variety) and cheeses, so it’s a good choice on Geralt’s part. Geralt nods.

“Beef’s not going to make you sick or anything, is it?” Jaskier teases, watching him layer the meaty sauce.

Geralt gives him a reproachful look but there’s a playful gleam in his eyes, “I eat beef, thank you very much.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow, grinning.

Geralt sighs, and admits, “Okay, maybe not _much_ , but I’ll be just fine.”

Jaskier stands behind him, just watching him for a moment. Geralt must finally feel the unease surrounding Jaskier, and glances over his shoulder again, brow furrowed.

“This isn’t - I’m not crossing a boundary, am I?”

Jaskier blinks. “Huh? By making me dinner?”

“I - well, it’s not like I asked permission. I just assumed -”

“No, Geralt, it’s fine, it’s actually really sweet. Thank you.”

Geralt smiles at him again, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It’s not a surprise, because Jaskier felt his own voice grow a little softer at the end, the way it does when he’s not feeling right about something.

“Then what’s wrong?” Geralt asks simply, turning back to the dish, “Bad day?” Jaskier pouts from behind him.

Jaskier sighs, stepping closer to rest his head against Geralt’s well-muscled shoulder blade. He’s not really a fan of this position, because of how his belly presses insistently against Geralt’s back, but Geralt makes a happy sound and Jaskier wants the contact right now.

“Jas,” Geralt edges when Jaskier still doesn’t say anything.

He should bring it up. He’ll be fixated on it now if they don’t air it out.

Mustering his courage before it wanes entirely, Jaskier says, “Can we talk about...before? Like, the breakup?”

Geralt stiffens, wipes his hands on a dish towel, then turns. He places his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders to keep him from moving away once they’re facing each other. Jaskier pointedly tries to ignore his belly being in the way, how he still has to step back a little just to give Geralt room to turn around without bumping his gut.

Geralt’s eyes are wide with worry, maybe even actual _fear_ , but he nods. He abandons the pan he’s preparing and wordlessly leads Jaskier to the kitchen table, looking grim, and Jaskier wonders if he’s making too big a deal of this.

Jaskier sits obediently, and Geralt joins him.

There’s a few awful moments of pregnant silence. Jaskier’s not sure how he wants to start this, when Geralt says, “I don’t even know how to apologize for what happened.”

Oh. Well, that’s all Jaskier’s really after anyways.

Geralt continues, “I was a bad partner. You had...concerns about our relationship. And I wouldn’t hear them.”

Jaskier chews his lip. “I don’t disagree, but it’s awfully generous of you to call them _concerns_.”

Geralt smiles humorlessly. 

“I was obnoxious,” Jaskier presses, “Obsessive, even.”

Geralt shrugs. “Yeah, maybe. But only because of how I was acting. You thought I was cheating, and even though I wasn’t, it’s not like I did a lot to reassure you. Instead, I-” Geralt sighs and looks down. “I just got irritated by it.” He looks back up, amber eyes pleading, “Which was so unfair, Jaskier.”

Geralt shifts in his seat, looking down again. “Not to mention my...most egregious action.”

Jaskier’s mouth goes dry just thinking about it. Geralt had told him the very next day, not _actually_ being one for keeping secrets. It had been at the very beginning of summer, leading into their freshman year of college.

Geralt swallows, “I don’t have any excuses besides being young and vain. I think...I needed to get that out of my system. Maybe we both did.”

“Both?” Jaskier says.

Geralt opens his mouth, then closes it. He opens it again and says, “I don’t mean to deflect, but I’m...well, I guess I’m glad you got over us pretty quick.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier says, somewhat offended. He’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, especially considering he had thought about Geralt daily for at least a year afterwards.

Geralt looks alarmed, “I didn’t mean - I just...saw your Facebook. It looked like you had a good time in college.”

Oh. Yeah, it would’ve. Jaskier’s skinny self, dressed in skimpy crop tops, leather pants and the occasional harness under the get up, sometimes barely visible but just for a little extra oomph. It was around that time that he realized _he_ was pretty sexy, too. That he could get the looks Geralt got, if maybe not quite as many. He had revelled in the attention.

“Thought you didn’t have social media.”

“I did then, until sophomore year. You know that.”

Jaskier frowns. “Well for the record, I wasn’t partying because I didn’t care we broke up. It was, like, the opposite. Having all those eyes on me - it made me feel sexy.”

Jaskier doesn’t realize what he’s said until he looks back at Geralt, who looks pale. “And I didn’t make you feel sexy. Fuck, Jaskier, I...I’m really sorry.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to assure Geralt that wasn’t the case, but as he thinks about it...maybe it was. Geralt’s wandering eyes really hadn’t been good for his self-esteem. He had recovered it during his partying days, though, and frankly he had considered himself a pretty hot piece of ass. 

Nowadays that wasn’t really the case, but that was also not Geralt-related (much more self-inflicted, really), so not worth bringing up.

“If it means anything, I...I thought about you all the time. I regretted everything.”

Jaskier shakes his head, “Why didn’t you say that, then?”

Geralt shrugs. “You’d gone to the East Coast for college. I was down south. It seemed silly to try and hash things out to just be long distance. Besides, I think it’s for the best that I didn’t. I still had a lot of growing up to do.”

Jaskier nods and a beat of silence follows. He feels...a little vulnerable, maybe, but better. He’s glad he brought it up.

He startles when he feels Geralt’s hand wrap around his.

“I can’t tell you how happy I was to see you in the grocery store.” There’s a fierce light in Geralt’s eyes, “I’m going to do right by you this time. Be the man you deserve.”

Jaskier feels treacherous tears well up in his eyes. He wipes them hastily with his free hand when Geralt brings his other up to kiss his knuckles.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you insane?”

Geralt looks puzzled, looking down at his lap like he doesn’t see what the problem is.

“I’m too fat for that now.”

Now Geralt looks amused, “To get in my lap?”

“Yes! I’ll crush you!”

Geralt huffs a soft laugh, and Jaskier crosses his pudgy arms and glares at him. Only after he’s in this position does he remember how it highlights the dome of his belly.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, placing his hands on Jaskier's hips, trying to tug him closer. But, to his point, Jaskier’s pretty damn heavy these days, and he doesn’t budge.

“This was always your favorite,” Geralt protests, and fuck, sitting in Geralt’s lap really _was_ his favorite.

It was his favorite, though, because of the way he could curl into him, be enveloped by his long, strong arms and feel tiny, safe and protected.

He’s pretty sure it won’t have the same effect, considering Geralt can barely even wrap his arms all the way around him anymore.

He pouts down at Geralt’s pleading face. Geralt’s hands start rubbing back and forth over his wide hips, the way he’s fast learned Jaskier really enjoys.

His resolve weakening, he tries, “I just ate, like, half a lasagne. I’m - I’m too round for this.”

As he says it, he places a hand on the crest of his belly to demonstrate, where it’s the roundest, bloated further outwards than usual with carbs, meat and cheese. Jaskier’s been trying not to make too much of a pig of himself in front of Geralt, but, well. For someone who usually cooks lighter food, Geralt had done exceptionally well with the contents of Jaskier’s fridge. Jaskier doesn’t think he can be blamed for overeating tonight.

And honestly, if he had been alone, he probably would’ve eaten even more.

Geralt takes that as an invitation to put his hand there, too. It’s warm on Jaskier’s vulnerable, soft belly, and even though it’s been a month and Geralt hasn’t shown any issues with Jaskier’s current shape, he still fights the urge to cross his arms again.

“You’re not too round,” Geralt says softly, “You could never be.”

Jaskier huffs.

“Let’s just try,” Geralt cajoles, “You won’t break me, I promise. I’m very sturdy.”

He’s obviously not going to let this go, so Jaskier groans and says, “Fine. But tell me if I’m too heavy, okay?”

Geralt looks amused at the notion, but says, “Okay.”

Jaskier frowns at him as he slowly gets his knees onto the couch, on either side of Geralt. “I mean it okay? I won’t be offended, I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, probably cockier since he’s got Jaskier in a more compromising position now. He’s got his hands back on Jaskier’s hips, and he tugs him down with more insistence.

Jaskier squeaks as he plops into Geralt’s lap, much harder than he meant to. He feels the excess weight on his body wobble from the impact, and blushes. Geralt just grins, smug bastard.

At Jaskier’s glare, he innocently says, “What’s that look for? See, you fit fine.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t fit! I could’ve hurt you,” Jaskier gripes, carefully shifting in Geralt’s lap, and, huh. While he _didn’t_ say that, it had been a concern, but turns out that maybe he does fit okay. And Geralt certainly doesn’t seem to be in much (any?) discomfort.

His tummy is too big and round for him to curl into a little ball like he used to, and instead it stubbornly presses up against Geralt’s torso. But if he shifts more to one side, moving a leg so he’s more sitting in Geralt’s lap than straddling it, his belly has a little more room to spread, and -

Geralt’s arms wrap around him securely, one around his waist and one holding his thigh, and Jaskier’s head is at the perfect height to rest comfortably against Geralt’s shoulder. 

Well. It turns out that this is still a very acceptable position.

Geralt’s got a smug look that’s clearly saying ‘I told you so,’ so Jaskier huffs and allows, “It turns out this works.”

Geralt’s grin gets more affectionate than smug and he agrees, “Turns out it does.”

They turn on Episode VII, because Geralt is still living under a cultural rock and somehow hadn’t even heard that there was a new batch of movies.

“They’re not as good as the second trilogy, much less the first,” Jaskier had started, “But Rey’s a gift to the franchise and gets an awful rap. Kylo’s great, too, but everyone knows that.”

“I don’t know who either of those people are.”

“Then shut up and watch, dummy.”

Geralt had laughed and Jaskier had smiled. There had been a time where ribbing like that would’ve just made Geralt pissy.

They’re halfway through the movie and Geralt still seems interested enough, but Jaskier’s getting distracted by his hands.

In moving sideways to give his tummy more room, he’s also made it more accessible. Geralt’s got his hand under Jaskier’s t-shirt, skirting over the curves and rolls of his torso. It seems absent, just gently moving his fingertips over Jaskier’s side, over the soft roll on his ribcage. A few gentle, soothing rubs over the roundest part of Jaskier’s belly, cognizant that he’s fairly stuffed.

It’s weird, being touched like this. Not a bad kind of weird, either. It’s just been so long since Jaskier’s really had anyone who was interested in feeling _this much_ of his body. Anyone added to his body count over the last few years were mostly interested in any other part of him than his belly. And Jaskier hadn’t complained, or even really minded. It seemed normal.

As such, he hasn’t really experienced touch on his belly. Like, at all. Nothing besides the relatively quick passing of hands of a lover, and sudsing himself up in the shower.

Geralt’s hands drift lower, down below his belly button. Jaskier tries not to squirm.

If the crest of his belly is where he’s roundest, his lower belly is where he’s fattest. At least at the crest, there’s muscle and organs and shit underneath the fat that make up _some_ mass. But down there, it’s just flab. Malleable, pale, doughy flab.

Geralt’s got his shirt rucked up to his belly button, where recently his belly has been trying to fold into two when he’s sitting like this. It’s making a valiant effort now, but his upper belly is stuffed a bit too round to really allow it. Still, there’s a hint at a divide, and his lower belly tumbles into his lap, bare and unapologetically plump. Embarrassingly, it’s where his freshest stretch marks are, too. A lot of his other stretch marks are old and silvered, or at least a pale pink, but the ones there are a vibrant, eye catching, darker pink.

Geralt uses his dull fingernails and lightly drags them over Jaskier’s lower belly. _Oh_. Jaskier feels his breath hitch. That’s...really nice.

Geralt flattens his hand over his lower belly, the bottom of his palm over Jaskier’s belly button and his fingers curling to his underbelly, and gives him a gentle squeeze.

Jaskier doesn’t mean to gasp the way he does, to arch into Geralt’s hand the way he does.

But Geralt chuckles, a deep sound resonating in his chest.

“Your stomach was always sensitive,” he says, breath hot on Jaskier’s ear. “Erogenous,” he continues, coupling the word with another amorous kneading of his belly.

Jaskier would be embarrassed at the way his belly fat puffs between Geralt’s fingers with each squeeze, but he doesn’t think he’s gotten hard this fast since he was a teenager.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines, breathy and squirming. Geralt kisses along his soft, plush jaw, and Jaskier’s eyes flit to the TV screen.

“You’re - going to miss Kylo and Han Solo…”

Geralt pauses, then laughs, “Seriously?”

“It’s an important scene.”

“Should I stop?”

Jaskier gives him a look, “ _No_ , you should pause it.”

Jaskier doesn’t realize what he’s asking until he sees Geralt’s eyes dart to the coffee table. With God-only-knows-how-many pounds of Jaskier in his lap, he can’t exactly maneuver around him easily to get said remote.

Jaskier then leans forward himself, hastily clicking pause on the remote. When he settles back, Geralt shifts him down onto the couch until he’s laying on his back.

He doesn’t miss the way Geralt extends his legs in a stretch before moving to straddle Jaskier’s hips.

“Your feet went numb, didn’t they?”

When Geralt hesitates to answer, Jaskier feels his eyes bulge.

“Oh my god, they did! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Geralt chuckles, leaning in for a placating kiss. When he pulls back, he says, “They were only just starting to go. It wasn’t bad. I would’ve moved you if it hurt.”

“Besides,” he continues, hiking up Jaskier’s shirt to his chest, “I like having you in my lap.”

Jaskier still pouts, Geralt huffs a fond laugh, and recaptures Jaskier’s lips in a heated kiss. It’s obvious where this is headed.

As Jaskier got bigger, he tended to have sex with people of similar sizes. It had been a long while since he had sex with anyone as fit as Geralt.

He had worried he’d be woefully out of shape and just embarrass himself. But he shouldn’t have worried so much. It’s not that he _wasn’t_ woefully out of shape, but Geralt was willing to do most of the more demanding work, and it’s easy for Jaskier to still be a very active participant when he already knows what makes Geralt tick. He knows _all_ his sweet spots. So, the sex has been great. The best Jaskier’s had in years, really.

Jaskier’s tummy bows up between them, flattened a bit by gravity, but not so much that it doesn’t bump against Geralt’s torso as he leans down close to kiss Jaskier, heavy and in the way.

Geralt seems perfectly pleased, though, a hand wandering to Jaskier’s chest, cupping the sensitive, chubby flesh in his hand, giving it a squeeze.

Jaskier spares a moment to feel a little embarrassed that he’s got so much breast that it very nearly fills Geralt’s hands, but then Geralt swipes a thumb over his nipple and Jaskier’s groaning into their kiss.

Geralt chuckles, breaking the kiss and sitting up more. “Here, too,” he says, moving both hands to Jaskier’s chest, cupping the fat accumulated on his chest, “Your nipples were always sensitive.”

Jaskier wants to complain that he’s hardly touched his nipples, just groped his fat man boobs, but then Geralt leans back down and starts sucking on one, and Jaskier’s complaints fizzle out into a breathy moan.

Geralt does that for a while, before kissing down his chest and mouthing at his waistband.

Jaskier tries to sit up a little to get his hands on Geralt better, to feel his shoulders and pull at that beautiful blond hair, but flat on his back with Geralt on his legs and his tummy as in the way as ever, he can’t really - just can’t quite get the leverage - 

Geralt pokes his head up, noticing his struggle, and retrieving a decorative pillow that got discarded onto the ground. With Geralt sitting up more, Jaskier places his hands on the couch cushion so he can _actually_ sit up and Geralt can slip a few pillows under him.

Jaskier knows he’s blushing. He can’t help it. He used to be so nimble in bed. Geralt used to be able to toss him around, and he’d switch positions in the middle of lovemaking. He had definitely never had a problem _sitting up to reach Geralt_.

So, yeah, probably nearly double his weight, Jaskier isn't exactly that spry anymore.

Realistically he knows he’s not quite _that_ enormous, that it’s mostly due to the angle, but still.

He’s gone a little soft now. Geralt must feel it, where his knee is slipped between Jaskier’s chubby thighs. He cups his cheek. “Relax, Jas,” he says, kissing Jaskier again. “You’re so beautiful.”

Ugh. He doesn’t exactly feel that way at the moment. He kinda can’t help but feel like he’s ruined the mood.

Geralt must feel the frown on Jaskier’s face, because he pulls back and begins to kiss along his padded jawline.

“I think you’re so fucking sexy, Jaskier. Your body is amazing,” he growls, and okay, Jaskier can indeed feel the raging hard on pressed against his tummy.

And when he stops to think about it, yeah that’s fairly flattering. His fatness obviously isn’t ruining the mood for Geralt.

And really, if Geralt doesn’t care, why should he? He’d gotten more or less fine with his body these days before all this, and obviously Geralt seems to think Jaskier’s body is more than just _fine_. 

It might take him time to really think of it as anywhere near _amazing_ , but, if Geralt really thinks that...

Pushing his insecurities down and focusing on the reality that Geralt really, truly thinks he’s as hot as he was when he was skinny, he pulls Geralt’s face back to kiss him. He gets his hands under Geralt’s shirt and Geralt pulls away just long enough to tug it over his head.

They spend a few beats like that, pressed together, making out. When they part, Jaskier’s panting and chubbing up again.

Geralt’s hand is on the waistband of Jaskier’s sweatpants, thumbing at the lovehandle pushing over it, “Do you want to keep going?”

“Duh,” Jaskier says, and Geralt rolls his eyes, grinning, and slides Jaskier’s pants and underwear off. Jaskier lifts his hips to help; he can manage that much.

“God,” Geralt mutters to himself once the flesh is revealed, mouth latching on to Jaskier’s inner thigh, where it’s flabby and dimpled and too jiggly for its own good. Jaskier bites down on a groan, feeling Geralt’s hand squeezing where his thighs meet his ass.

Jaskier wants to encourage that, so when Geralt takes his mouth off Jaskier’s thigh, Jaskier lifts his legs around Geralt’s back. He doesn’t anticipate the way it gives his tummy less room, finally making it fold into those two plump, chunky rolls. He almost puts them back down, but then Geralt’s hands are there like a vice, gripping his thighs, and he _groans_.

Jaskier’s eyes flit up to Geralt’s face. Geralt’s eyes are raking over his body, and he looks...well, he looks _gone_. Like Jaskier’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

He catches Jaskier’s look and places a proprietary hand on Jaskier’s belly, right where it’s folding in two. His touch is gentle and sweet, like it always is on his belly, and Geralt shakes his head in disbelief.

“You really don’t get how hot you are, do you?”

“Jesus,” Jaskier says, quickly getting aroused to the point of being desperate. He shifts and feels his dick press more insistently against his own belly, aching and hard. “Just - get on with it then, Geralt, _please_.”

Geralt chuckles and gives his belly an affectionate rub, before leaning in and growling, “With pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> maybe also worth mentioning I have Geralt here a little more open and friendly than his canonical counterpart, but I think that's some of the fun with AU's - when a character is missing a formative experience they have in canon (as in, Geralt's obvi not a witcher here), their personality would naturally be shaped a bit differently.
> 
> Comments & kudos are always appreciated! <3
> 
> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://akranes-jlc.tumblr.com)!


End file.
